


Life is Never Easy, But Neither is Death

by Jade_Dragoness



Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Community: cliche_bingo, Dreams, M/M, One of the Author's Favorites, Running, Surreal, pre-Ghost Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-08
Updated: 2011-05-08
Packaged: 2017-10-19 03:49:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_Dragoness/pseuds/Jade_Dragoness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is dead. He knows he’s dead. So how in the world did he end up here? He’d much rather prefer Hell.<br/>Spoilers: Post 'Changes'; pre 'Ghost Story'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the beta, binz! All mistakes are my own and I reserve the right to sneak ninja fix them. Inspired by the Card slot number 7 - Bodyswap/Bodyshare, but with a twist! Umm...also I’ve been avoiding all ‘Ghost Story’ spoilers so **please** don’t mention any in the comments. Thank you!

I hadn’t been dead for very long. Just a few days, but I had spent most of that time in the Nevernever trying to stay ahead of some nasty things that wanted to eat me. You’d think that being dead would be enough and I wouldn’t have to worry about by monsters. But my afterlife seems to just as dangerous as my life.

Rest in peace, my ass.

I pushed myself to move faster the howls of the literal hellhounds chasing me getting closer. Yes, you heard me. Hellhounds. And not cuddly ones like Kincaid.

Someone had been monitoring me from the Nevernever and when I passed over they’d sent the hounds after me. It made me suspect that whoever was behind this was probably also behind my shooting. Not that I could find out anything about it- at least not until I had shaken the dogs off my trail.

I ran.

I moved as quickly as I could. I had to be careful where I chose to open up a Way in the Nevernever. So far it was the only plan I could think up to get away from the hellhounds. I didn‘t exactly have a lot of options right now. I was a spirit, not a ghost, and while I had access to my magic I didn’t know how long that would last, after all magic comes from life. And, well it also didn’t help that right before I’d been shot I’d been involved in a draining battle where I’d used a lot of soulfire. I didn’t even know how I had enough soul left in me to be a spirit. My magic was running on fumes.

So I was more than a little desperate when I finally picked a spot and opened up a Way.

Emotions can be pretty good indicators of what lies on the other side of a Way. Especially from Earth to the Nevernever, it’s trickier using that method when you’re trying to move from one area of the Nevernever to another. But without the Map of the Ways, I had no other tools to use. So I picked a spot that felt calm and familiar, and focused my power.

I was honestly surprised when the Way opened up into a place that I’d never seen before. Yet the familiar feeling persisted.

It was a dark area that was filled as far as the eye could see with spheres, giant six-foot diameter bubbles that pulsed with light and color. I craned my head up. Hell, they were even floating above me. They went up so high I couldn’t even see the very top one, if there even was one. The spheres just curved away into infinity in all directions. There was enough space among them that I could maneuver without touching them, but not so much that I could keep running.

Dammit.

I walked cautiously, and with every step my feet sank into the black sand that made up the ground. I sighed, it would also make running difficult. As I passed the glowing spheres I heard noises: music, talking, cars, laughter, even what I swear sounded like the roar of a jet engine. The noises didn’t get very far past the individual sphere, just a few feet. The area in between muffled any output, keeping all the noise and light contained. That was both interesting and worrying because now I didn’t know if I’d be able to hear the howls of the hellhounds in time when they tracked me here. But maybe…

I considered a sphere carefully, took a deep and fortifying breath - with the reminder that I was running out of options - before pressing my hands against the nearest one. It shimmered with a kaleidoscope of colors exactly like a soap bubble, but didn’t pop at my touch. It resisted, so I pushed harder, using some of my last amount of power to help me, and between one second and the next I was inside.

I blinked and stared at a little girl. She was about seven years old, her dark hair tied up in ponytail and wearing a very pink dress. She was sitting on a picnic blanket and calmly talking to a giant blue fish which was practically three times her height. It gurgled a watery question at her.

“Of course not, Mr. Kettle, there aren’t any real stars in the ocean. Only starfish. Oh hullo, are you here for tea too?” she asked as she noticed me. Her accent was English, but from what exact area of England I couldn’t say. Hell, for all I knew she was South African. “I‘m afraid I don‘t have any bird food, just fish cakes,” she continued. The fish waved a fin at me.

Surprised, I waved back. “Bird food?”

“Storks are birds, you know, though I‘ve never seen a black one before. Only white ones. You‘re very pretty,” the girl said.

I don’t know why she felt like I needed to hear that. Confused, I looked down at myself and saw that my long legs had turned into pale yellow bird legs. Stork legs just like she’d said. And my arms were black wings with feathers that stretched out as long as my hands.

“Hell‘s bells! What is this?” I yelped through a beak and looked desperately back to where I’d come from but I didn’t see the bubble filled space, only more of this world. It had green grass and a wide pink sky. The sky, instead of having clouds, was full of huge chocolate cupcakes with icing and colorful sprinkles.

The little girl frowned at me. “You shouldn‘t curse. I don‘t like it.”

The entire place shook. It wasn’t an earthquake, instead it was as if someone had picked up the entire world and given it a good shake. The bubble world I was in popped.

I blinked in shock as I appeared back in the sphere filled space of the Nevernever. I double checked my arms and legs and sighed in relief as I saw I was back to normal.

“What was that?” I asked aloud, confused.

And then it hit me. I knew why this area of the Nevernever felt so familiar and I knew exactly what those bubbles really were. They were dreams, mortal dreams, coming from humans back on Earth. This was where dreamer came. This is where the dream became reality.

I was in the Realm of Dreams.

Dreams that a spirit could enter. A glorious and desperate idea unfolded in my mind. Several years ago I’d been attacked by the Nightmare, a super-ghost of a sorcerer. It had torn into me through a dream. My wards hadn’t provided any protection because I’d been asleep; I’d been vulnerable because a part of me had been in the Nevernever.

Here.

And maybe from here, I could find a way back to the mortal realm. It’s not as easy as just popping over. There’s a boundary between the mortal world and the realms where ghosts dwell. Even as a spirit made entirely of soul-stuff and not ectoplasm, I wasn’t anywhere near powerful enough on my own to break through that boundary. But if I rode piggyback on a dream I should be able to make it through the boundary. Or if I couldn’t do that, maybe I could pass on a message to my friends.

I stared back at the infinity of dreams and tried not to feel overwhelmed by the hopelessness of that task. I would have to be very, very lucky to find the dream of someone I knew. At any point in time there were around three and a half billion dreamers, give or take few million, and they were all here. And have I mentioned that my luck hasn’t exactly been running on the ‘good’ side of the board lately?

I shook my head and found the next dream bubble to enter.  
*-*-*-*

I don’t know how long I kept at it.

Days - sure! Weeks - maybe - it was hard to tell. Time ran oddly in dreams and sometimes it took me longer than I’d liked to pass on my message to the dreamer, when I could recognize them as the dreamer, at all. Once, I entered a dream where the man who’d been dreaming thought that he was a lake. I still don’t know how I managed to get him to wake up so I could pop out of the dream world.

But even with all these troubles, I was able to pass my message to a lot of people. I kept it simple, so it would be easier for the dreamer to remember when they woke up: ‘Murphy needs to know that Harry’s in the Nevernever.’ I think I told several thousand before I finally pushed into the dream of someone I knew.

Of course with my terrible luck, that dreamer turned out to be Gentleman John Marcone, a man who I‘d threatened to _hurt_ last time I‘d talked to him. Essentially, he was the very _last_ person I wanted to see.

“Oh, you got to be kidding me,” I complained. The dream world turned out to be a big office in a skyscraper which overlooked the city of Chicago. The skyscraper was so huge that every building in Chicago was visible through a wide window. Of course, Marcone had his office at the very top.

Marcone looked at me with his usual cool gaze but then he did something that made me want to run the hell out of there. He smiled at me. A much wider smile than I was used to seeing on him, but full of teeth in a way that was completely predatory: hungry and dangerous.

Yikes.

I tensed up and focused my will.

“I was hoping I‘d see you today,” Marcone said.

“Really?” I asked, warily. Why would Marcone be dreaming of me? “I certainly wasn‘t planning on it.”

With casual ease, Marcone stood from his leather office chair and walked around the desk towards me. He didn’t stop until he was a foot away from me. His head tilted back to look me in the eyes. I stood my ground, mostly by reminding myself that this was a dream and I was already dead. There really wasn’t much that Marcone could do to me now.

And that worked just fine for reassurance up until Marcone grabbed me by the back of my neck and kissed me.

I froze. He forcibly pushed his tongue in my mouth. Then I may have panicked. A little.

Okay, so throwing him across the room with a blast of will was stupid. I was already running low on energy. But he freaked me out, okay! I wasn’t exactly used to having men stick their tongues down my throat like that. And I sure as hell wasn’t expecting that kind of attention to come from Marcone!

Marcone picked himself up from the floor and arched his eyebrows at me. Then his expression became thoughtful. “You‘re usually a little more cooperative than this. I think I‘ll enjoy you being more defiant for once.”

My brain broke more than a little at that piece of information.

He stalked towards me and I backpedaled quickly. The smile was back on his face, even hungrier this time. “It will make it all the sweeter when you finally say please.”

I swallowed down hard and kept backing away. I probably would have felt ridiculous for the way I was running away from a vanilla mortal if it wasn’t for the fact that this was _Marcone._

“Okay, seriously, stop.” He didn’t. I added quickly, “You’re dreaming. This is a dream.”

“Of course it is, Mr. Dresden,” Marcone said, amused.

“I need you to pass on a message to Murphy!” I said, but soon my back came up against a wall. I scrambled to find a door only to find out there wasn’t one. A quick glance around the room verified my worst fears. This dream office of Marcone’s didn’t have any doors. “Oh, hell. Why don‘t you have doors?!”

And I really shouldn’t have let my attention drift away from Marcone for even a second. Because he took that moment to tackle me in such a practiced move that it made me think he had to have played a lot of football when he was younger.

“All you have to say is please,” Marcone said, as he leaned close enough to me for me to feel the warmth of his lips above my own. I pushed him away. His weight rested fully on my thighs not even letting me get enough leverage to buck him off.

“No way,” I said, and tried to see if wiggling away would work. It didn‘t. “I‘m never telling you ‘please’ ever again.” I glared. “If I‘d known you liked so much, I‘d never would have said it to you. Ever. Pervert.”

Marcone’s smile widened, a hungry thing that made me shudder, and not in a happy way. His hands started to undo my pants. I had to clutch at his wrists to make him stop. He paused and I slowly let him go. To my relief he made to move for my waist again, but he didn’t get off me either.

“Okay, I‘m serious,” I said desperately. “I‘m not some dream fantasy of yours.” And wow, those were words I never thought I’d say to him. “It‘s really me. The real me.”

“I doubt that,” Marcone said, but now there was a faint frown on his lips instead of that frighteningly hungry smile. “I’ve seen the pictures from your crime scene. I doubt even you would be able to survive from such blood less.”

“Yeah, I know. I didn‘t,” I said. “But being dead isn‘t enough to stop me.” Marcone’s frown became deeper. He was so close that I could see him thinking as he analyzed me, my appearance and the differences from dream Harry that he was used to seeing. I could see it in his eyes when he _believed_ me.

And the entire dream world around us began to shake.

I said urgently, “Tell Murphy I‘m in the Nevernever, in the Realm of Dreams! Tell her to talk to Bob!”

Marcone stared down at me. In a quick moment, grabbed me by the arms and held me in a bruising grip.

The dream world around me vanished.


	2. Chapter 2

When I opened my eyes again, I wasn’t in the Realm of Dreams, and I sure as hell wasn’t in Marcone’s office dream.

I was disoriented and confused, because instead of an endless field of giant dream bubbles I was expecting all I saw was the familiar skyline of Chicago, although an oddly grey-toned Chicago. If I was in some other part of the Nevernever, I was in a pretty weird area because there wasn’t a speck of color anywhere. All the buildings were grey. The sky was overcast and grey. Hell, even the trees I could see from where I was standing were grey. Everything was different shades of grey: from a very pale white-grey to a shade so dark it could be confused for black.

It was oppressive and disturbing and I shuddered as a chill went down my spine. A quick look at my hands showed that my skin was still a pink hue. I sighed in relief.

I looked around but I didn’t see anyone, which was both a good and a bad thing. Good because that meant that there wasn’t anything about to jump up and eat me. Bad, because there was no one to find where the hell I was. I shifted my gaze to the skyline and from where I stood, I could see the top of the Trump Tower and it helped make it easier for me to orient myself. Since I didn’t really have a choice I shrugged and started walking. It wasn’t until I was pretty well into downtown that I saw signs of life. Kinda. The cars I saw pass by me had drivers that were partially transparent and as grey as the rest of the place.

Once in a while, a pedestrian would walk by me on the sidewalk but they were just like those drivers. It was like this was a city full of ghosts. Except that they didn’t seem to see me. I tried to talk one, and I was ignored. I tried to grab another but my hand when through them like I was the ghost. Well, I was a spirit but this felt more than that.

That shouldn’t have happened if I was in the Nevernever. There was no reason that I shouldn’t be able to interact with any part of it, or its inhabitants, even as a spirit. There’s a reason ghosts ended up in the realms of the Nevernever.

Where in the hell was I?

I spent hours wandering this grey version of Chicago. It was exactly like the Chicago I knew. I know the city pretty damned well and downtown Chicago I know down to the trees in the streets and the cracks in the sidewalk. I had to. I’d once built a pewter replica of Chicago. It had to be perfect for when I poured in my will and turned it into an exact echo of the living breathing the city. I‘d called the replica Little Chicago. I didn’t like thinking about how it was now a puddle of melted pewter at the bottom of the burned out shell which had once been my apartment building.

I hadn’t been having a good few days before I’d been killed. I think I mentioned that.

This Grey Chicago was even more detailed than Little Chicago. Through windows I could see into the foyers of different buildings, and I recognized the décor in a lot of them from my own walks around the real city. Little Chicago could only show the outsides of buildings and the movement on the streets. This was so much more. This grey version of Chicago was impressive. Whoever had created it had a seriously deep obsession with the city. I paused at that thought to reconsider it. Grey Chicago _felt_ like a construction even with the ghost-like people that populated it. It felt like the trees, the buildings, and even the sky was made of the same _stuff_ , which of course, it didn’t answer my question of where in the hell I was. It only left me more confused.

I was shaken out of my thoughts by a thunderous feline roar. It was a sound that just about knocked me off my feet, and not just from surprise. It literally shook the streets of Grey Chicago, causing windows to shiver and trees to sway dangerously. I tried to track where it had come from but the man-made canyons that were skyscrapers of downtown made the sound echo oddly off the glass lined buildings.

The loud roar came again but this time I was ready and I Listened.

Listening is one of those tricks that I’ve picked up several years ago that let me to hear sounds that a normal people don’t pick up. I don’t think that it has anything to do magic. It’s just concentration. It’s similar to the way that humans can train themselves to tolerate higher levels of cold, or hold their breath for longer than usual. I just heard more than most people. By Listening, I knew exactly where the roar came from and so like a total idiot I turned and ran towards it.

Now, I got to say that I’ve seen some pretty strange things over the years. Scary, ugly sights I wish I could scrub out of my brain and wonderful good things that I hold close when I need that touch of beauty. But never in the entire years I was alive have I ever seen a giant saber-toothed tiger made of out metal. If it had been a zombie T-rex I would have been less impressed, after all I‘ve seen that before, but this was a freaking robot, the size and length of a delivery truck. Hell’s bells.

I probably would have stood there gaping like a moron if I hadn’t seen a flash of blue near the thing’s head.

Blue.

Color, in this completely grey-toned world.

The color held my attention like a magnet, and the scrap of blue became a sleeve of an shirt. It belonged to someone hidden behind an overturned car. And the saber-toothed tiger’s metal jaws were about snap around them.

 _“Fozare!”_ I shouted, my palm pointed at the metal tiger. The blast of force hit it on the side. It rocked back, more startled than hurt. I focused, pouring more precious will into the spell. _“Ventas servitas!”_

The gale of wind made the saber-toothed tiger crouch back on its huge haunches. Its metal ears flattened against its skull in an oddly organic way, and - more importantly - it closed its eyes.

“Come on!” I shouted, as loud as I could to be heard over the whistling wind. “Move!”

A uniformed cop came out from behind the car and ran towards me. He was slim and of average height but well muscled with dark hair. Not only was he the only spot of color in Grey Chicago, he was also the only solid _real_ person I’d seen in this place.

“Run!” he shouted as he came towards me. His voice shaded with a hint of a street Chicago-Italian accent. “That won‘t hold it for long!”

“But-” I barely got the chance to say when he snagged me around my free arm and hauled me after him. His hand held tight. I stumbled. “Hey!”

“Trust me! I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah,” I said, sarcastically. I shook his hand off my arm and ran at his side. “I can see that, no wonder I had to rescue you.”

He turned to me and although the cop’s face was shadowed under the brim of his hat I saw a bright flash of a smile. I also noted his name tag read: Officer Franco Moretti. His star-shaped CPD badge glowed with golden light. Interesting.

Behind us, the saber-toothed tiger roared with metallic leonine fury at being denied its prey.

Officer Moretti ran faster and so did I.  
*-*-*-*

It’s weird how we finally managed to escape. For one, I’d thought we’d head for somewhere with thick walls like a bunker. I would’ve even accepted hiding in a bank vault. Instead, we ran for safety to an elementary school.

“He won‘t follow us in here,” Moretti gasped out, as soon as we where behind the double doors.

Double doors that were not only flimsy, but weren‘t even locked. I gave him a skeptical look and tried desperately to catch my own breath. Normally, I had more endurance than this, but my low energy levels was starting to affect me physically, not just my reserves of magic.

“The tiger stays away from schools.”

“You‘re relying about the good nature of a robotic saber-toothed tiger that was about to eat you?” I asked, incredulously.

“It‘s worked so far.” And again I got that flash of a brilliant grin. I still couldn’t see the rest of his face.

“When it busts in to eat us, I‘m throwing you at it so I can get away,” I grumbled. His grin widened. I shook my head. “What was that thing?”

“A robotic saber-toothed tiger,” Moretti said promptly.

I rolled my eyes. “Alright, smartass. I don‘t suppose you can tell me where the hell we are?”

Moretti’s mouth opened.

“And don‘t say a school!”

Moretti chuckled then his head tilted to the side to consider me. I was beginning to get disturbed that I couldn’t see the upper part of his face. It was hidden by a deep shadow that didn‘t even let me see his eyes. He asked me in surprise, “You really don‘t know?”

“Would I ask if I knew?”

He was quiet for a moment and then he nodded as if coming to a decision. “You‘re in the mind of Gentleman Johnny Marcone.”

_Hell’s bells._

And now I wished I was still being chased by hellhounds. It seemed the safer option.  
*-*-*-*

Officer Moretti said we had to wait out the tiger. It would move on after about an hour, if it didn‘t have prey to chase. Apparently, even robotic saber-toothed tigers got bored. You learn something new everyday.

So we stayed in the school to avoid becoming cat food. Moretti spent most of the time looking out the windows, keeping an eye on the tiger as it paced the perimeter while I sat on the floor.

I kept trying to process the information about where I was but I kept getting stuck on the thought that I was in _Marcone’s_ mind. It was just too different from just popping into one of his dreams. Grey Chicago was his mind and its landscape was his subconscious.

I wasn’t even in the Nevernever anymore.

My soul was in his brain. In his body.

I had to invoke a lot of relaxation techniques to keep from panicking. In no way, did I think that was a good thing. I was human. I shouldn’t be capable of taking up a time-share in the mind of another person. Non-human beings can pull that off. Bob, my assistant/magical computer/pain-in-my-backside, is a spirit of air and intellect. He can hitch a ride in a mind without the possessed man or woman suffering any side-effects other than maybe some memory loss, or bewilderment of how they got up so much trouble. Demons also did the same thing, although they usually damaged the mind of the person. And the Fallen, angels for the Dark Side, could even imprint a shadow of themselves in a human brain.

I wasn’t any of those things. I was a soul. How did I get sucked in from the Realm of Dreams in the Nevernever? Why didn’t the boundary stop me? I kept turning over the details of Marcone’s dream in my mind - um - skipping past the embarrassing parts.

Then I remembered, Marcone had held on to me when the dream had dissolved. No other dreamer had done that, in the hundreds and hundreds that I talked to none of them had tried to hold on to me. Marcone had to be the one to pull me into him though I doubt that’s what he’d intended. But if he was the cause of this, then how did I get out? I couldn’t stay in Marcone’s mind forever.

“Come on,” Moretti said, breaking into my thoughts. “The tiger‘s given up for now.”

“For now? That‘s not reassuring,” I said, as I lowly stood up. My entire body was aching, more than it should be considering it was incorporeal.

“It comes around every one in a while,” he said. His mouth quirked up in amusement. “It’s been months since I‘ve seen it though. You must have caught his interest by showing up here.”

“Great, I‘m so I‘m saber-toothed tiger cat nip.” I sighed and followed Moretti back to the streets of Grey Chicago. The sky was becoming dark. I stared up at the thickening clouds. It looked like a storm was coming. What that said about Marcone’s state of mind couldn’t be good.

“He‘s pissed about something,” Moretti said, as he looked up.

I turned to him. I noted his face was still shadowed even with this new angle. “There‘s no way we can find out why that is, could we?” I had a feeling that I was the cause of that bad mood.

“There may be a way only it doesn’t always work, but any other way will make the saber-toothed tiger find us. Follow me.”

I grimaced. I followed Moretti as he walked off briskly.

“If Marcone’s emotions stay that way for too long then we‘ll face a pretty bad storm,” Moretti continued. He looked over to me. “You don’t have a place to stay do you?”

“I‘ve only just blew into town, pardner,” I said, with my best pseudo-Western accent.

Moretti grinned at me. “That‘s just begs for this town ain’t big enough for the two of us jokes.”

“Three of us.” The giant tiger robot counted. Four if I wanted to count Marcone, even if he was the city at this point.

Moretti shrugged. “Well, I‘m offering you place to stay.”

“I wasn‘t planning on being here for long,” I protested.

He snorted. “I‘m not asking you to move in. My apartment‘s not big enough for two.”

“You don‘t even know me,” I pointed out. “I could be a crazy person.”

“Oh, I know you‘re crazy. I also know you‘re a wizard, Mr. Dresden,” Moretti said. “There isn‘t much that Marcone knows that I can‘t find out. Especially about someone he thinks about as much as you.”

I stared at him. Then I closed my eyes tightly and shook my head. “Please, don‘t say such disturbing things.”

Moretti burst out laughing. It was a wild and bright sound that seemed to draw light around him. It made me open my eyes to enjoy the sight and even smile unwillingly. It was that kind of laugh. I caught him by the shoulder and he stopped walking to look up me.

I held out my hand. “You may know me, but let me introduce myself properly. I‘m Harry Dresden, wizard.”

Moretti took my hand in a firm clasp. “It’s great to finally meet you, Mr. Dresden. I‘m Officer Franco Moretti, cop. You can call me Frank.”

I shook his hand and I gave him a mischievous grin. “You‘re sure your nickname isn‘t Frankie?”

Moretti grimaced, the shape of his mouth twisting in distaste. “Ugh, I haven‘t been called Frankie since I was a kid.”

“Frankie it is!” I said cheerfully.

“I can leave you on the street for the saber-toothed tiger, you know,” he grumbled as he began walking again.

“No, you won‘t, Frankie,” I said confidently.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, with a curious tone.

“Your shield. It wouldn‘t be throwing out so much light if you didn‘t have such intense feelings for it,” I said. “You‘re a cop, through and through.”

Frankie looked down at his chest. And the line of his mouth softened. “Okay,” he said, “I‘ll give you that much, Harry.”

The guy was giving me a place to stay as well as kept me from being eaten by a saber-toothed tiger. He’d pretty much earned the right to call me Harry. “Hey, do you have Coke in your place? I haven‘t had any in days.”  
*-*-*-*

Frankie’s apartment was in a small building in a poor, primarily Mexican neighborhood. But it was clean, and filled with a lot of those see-through gray people. There were even children - the first I’ve seen - running around free. It was a good sign that they were well fed and unafraid. This area was safe, even if most of its residents fell below the poverty line. The one thing that surprised me was that Frankie actually got acknowledged while I was still being ignored by the ghost-people. It made me wonder if to Frankie they looked as see-through as they did to me.

“Why do they respond to you but not to me?” I asked, as I waited for him to open his apartment door.

“They know me,” Frankie said. He opened the door and waved me in. “You‘re probably too new.”

I hovered outside the door instead of heading in, “You‘ll need to invite me.”

Frankie paused. “A threshold will still work?”

I raised my eyebrows but I shouldn’t be surprised. He’d already said he knew a lot of what Marcone knew. And if Marcone didn’t know about the basics like the protection offered by thresholds then he should demand his money back from Monoc Securities. Frankie had brought up a good point. I was in Marcone’s mind, no matter how realistic it looked. Normal laws of magic may not apply.

I walked in and met no resistance. There wasn’t even the weakest of barriers.

“No threshold,” I said. I looked around with interest. The place was that of a bachelor. It had the starkness to it of a man who didn’t care about decorations. There was an entire wall with cheap bolted shelves that were stacked to the ceiling with books.

“So, at least you know you can enter any place without worrying about leaving your magic at the door,” Frankie said.

It was _good_ to know.

“You have interesting tastes,” I said, nodding at the books. There were a lot of philosophy books there, from Aquinas to Descartes to Plato. As well as books on tactics, criminal law, and criminal procedure.

Frankie shrugged. “I didn’t used to read much growing up. But I have a friend who‘s a bookworm that passes a book along when he‘s done. And he‘ll demand I argue with him about it, so I have to read them or I never hear the end of it.” He settled into the couch by the living room and waved me to the kitchen. “Pick out anything you want from the kitchen. Mi casa es su casa.”

“Gracias,” I said. Since Frankie didn’t drink Coke - the heathen didn’t drink soda - I pulled out a couple bottles of beer. He had all the ingredients for a bologna sandwich, so I made four. The fact that they were as grey as everything didn’t make them any less appetizing. I put the food on plates that looked clean even if they stacked on the counter. When I sat down on the couch next to Frankie I handed him a plate and a beer.

“Thanks,” he said, surprised.

I shrugged. “I‘m eating your food, Frankie. I might as well feed you too.”

He sighed and rubbed at where his eyes would be under the shadow on his face “There‘s nothing I can do to get you to stop calling me Frankie, is there?”

“Absolutely nothing,” I said, around a mouthful of bologna sandwich. I smirked as I chewed.

He shook his head and turned on the beat up TV that sat on a milk crate in front of the couch.

I tensed half-expecting the technology to die but similar the way that Grey Chicago didn’t mimic the normal laws of magic, my affect on it was also non-existent. When I saw what was on the screen I almost dropped my food. I could see the insides of a car while Hendricks and Gard looked right at the camera.

No. Not a camera. Marcone’s eyes. Instead of getting a TV show or news or anything that normally came on day-time television, we were seeing through the eyes of Marcone. In color.

“How?” I asked, surprised.

Frankie shook his head. “I don’t know. It doesn‘t always work but every once in a while, especially when Marcone‘s emotions are agitated, I can get a signal.”

Marcone stared talking so I shut up and we both paid attention to the TV.

“The Dresden in my dream was rather insistent that it was him.”

“It’s possible, Mr. Marcone,” Ms. Gard said, calmly. “Mortal souls often pass beyond this plane and into the Nevernever. The only reason I would be reluctant to agree that it was really Harry Dresden is the presence of a strong barrier between the living world and the dead planes. It is nearly impossible for a soul to pass through it unless certain conditions are met like those on Halloween night a few years ago.”

“But it’s not improbable,” Marcone said, and Gard nodded. “Then I‘d suggest we move forward with the assumption that the dream being was Dresden.”

“The researchers came up with this,” Hendricks said. He handed Marcone a flat screened tech toy, I recognized from all those advertisement that Best Buy kept sending me. Huh, who’d have thought they’d be actually helpful. Marcone flipped through the file on the screen too quickly for me to read them but I saw my name more than once. Hendricks continued, “He’s becoming an internet meme.”

“So I wasn‘t the only one that he reached through a dream,” Marcone said thoughtfully.

Then the TV picture started to be filled with static. Marcone’s emotions had to be calming down.

“No!” said Frankie. He stood up and smacked the side of the TV. “Not yet.”

But his words were futile and the picture became filled with static snow.

Frankie snarled, a low angry sound, and he hit the TV so hard it fell off its milk crate stand. He dropped to his knees. His shoulders were tense as he put the TV back on the stand. It seemed to be okay.

I sat back on couch and watched him. This was the angriest I’ve seen Frankie. Even when we’re being chased by the saber-toothed metal tiger he was more relaxed. “Who is Marcone to you?”

Frankie turned away from me. “Nobody.”

“Yeah, right,” I said, sarcastically. “And in life I‘m really five feet tall.” His hands clenched until his knuckles went white. I could see him struggle to control himself when he succeeded his hands relaxed again. “Why are you here in Marcone‘s mind?” I asked, gently. “I can name one hundred places off the top of my head that would be a lot better place to set up shop.”

Frankie turned to me. I wished that I could see his face so that I could read the emotions in his eyes. But his bitter tone told me plenty. “You’re asking the wrong question. You should be asking: Who am _I_ to Marcone?”

“Who are you to Marcone, Frankie?” I asked obligingly.

Frankie raised his head enough so that I could see his mouth quirk in a humorless smile. “Me? I‘m the first person that John Marcone killed.”


	3. Chapter 3

Frankie left his apartment after his bombshell, claiming he needed to hit the nearest bodega for more beer.

I was glad to be left alone because my mind kept reeling from what he‘d told me. And I needed that chance to think it through. And walk it out. I paced around Frankie’s small living room echoing the circling thoughts in my head.

Hell, I knew that Marcone was criminal scum but I’d always thought of him of having some set principles. The kind that made him enforce such rules as keeping innocent bystanders safe from gang wars, or children completely out of the danger from anyone who would hurt or exploit them. For crying out loud, he’d even helped me save lives. I _never_ thought of him of the sort of man who would kill an innocent, who would kill a police officer. Officer Franco Moretti wasn’t a dirty cop. I would be able to tell. If he’d been the sort of selfish man who cared only for himself, he would have left me behind to face the saber-toothed tiger. Instead, he’d slowed himself down to grab me and then made certain to take me to a safe place.

Had I misjudged Marcone so badly? I had seen in the soulgaze that Marcone was capable of killing without remorse, but I’d always figured it had been his enemies, other criminals, or those broke his rules. I couldn’t image how Frankie had been any of those. He was a beat cop for crying out loud. And young, so very young, I could see that in the way he talked, and the way he moved. Early twenties, maybe even mid-twenties, though I doubted it. Why would Marcone kill him?

My thoughts were stuck on this question. At least they were, until I got hit by even more questions: What the hell was Frankie doing in Marcone’s mind? He shouldn’t be here. If he was dead like me then he should be in the afterlife. He wasn’t a ghost. He was too solid, too aware of himself to be a ghost. A ghost was an imprint of a person at the moment of their death. They weren’t people. Frankie was as much as a person as I was, of that I was sure. He was made of soul-stuff not ectoplasm. Then why hadn’t I seen him in the soulgaze? Did he get sucked into Marcone‘s mind just like I had? How long has he been here that those ghost-people of Gray Chicago acknowledged him? Why was the saber-toothed tiger robot hunting him? Why hadn’t he found a way to leave Marcone’s mind?

I had to wait until Frankie got back before I could ask any of my questions. So I practically pounced on him when he got back.

“The tiger‘s hunting me because Marcone wants to get rid of me,” Frankie said, as he put away his groceries. He popped out two cans of beer from the six-pack, tossing me one.

I caught it and scowled at it. “Why?”

“Because he doesn’t want any reminder of me,” said Frankie, after he swallowed down an entire can of beer. He grabbed another can and walked to the couch.

I trailed after him, gritting my teeth in frustration. He was ignoring my other questions! “Then why are you staying here? You can leave!”

Frankie slowly shook his head. “No, I can‘t.”

My stomach dropped to around my knees. “Are you saying that there‘s no way to leave?” I don’t want to spend the rest of my afterlife in Marcone’s mind.

“I don‘t know.”

“So you haven’t even tried?” I asked, leaning towards him on the couch.

Frankie just drank his beer and didn’t look at me.

I sighed. “Frankie…”

“I can‘t leave, Harry,” he said. “It may not seem like it but I‘m needed here. I have to walk my beat. I _have_ to protect the city and the people.”

I watched him carefully. His body language was confident, about that at least. He believed that he needed to stay here. “What makes you think you need to stay in Marcone’s mind?”

Frankie shook his head. “Drop it, Harry. Please. I‘ve been here for years. I‘m not going to be leaving any time soon.”

I dropped it, for now. I was going to find out why he was stuck here. I had the feeling that finding out that answer would be pretty important to figuring out how I’d get out of Marcone’s head. I didn’t want to spend years in here. Hell, no.  
*-*-*-*

Frankie offered me his bed after I stifled a yawn for the umpteenth time. I’d protested but he’d explained that he never really had to use it. He didn’t sleep. He had a bed more from habit than anything else. He usually spent his time walking the streets of Grey Chicago. Hell, it turned out that Grey Chicago didn’t even have a night. The overcast sky grew darker, as if in twilight but it never turned in true night. The same could be said for the day, the sky never got a clear, sunny and bright day.

Marcone is screwed up, seriously screwed up.

“I won‘t be gone long,” Frankie said. “I need to walk my beat and then I‘ll be back.”

I scowled at him. “If you get yourself eaten…”

He shook his head at me. “You’re aware I‘ve survived just fine on my own before you showed up, right? I‘m still uneaten.”

I opened my mouth to argue but I got interrupted by a wide yawn.

Frankie chuckled, and all but shoved me in the direction of his bedroom. I had to admit, his single bed looked inviting. “Get some rest,” he said. “You wouldn‘t be any help to me even if you came along. Your snoring wouldn‘t away scare the tiger.”

“I don‘t snore,” I protested, but fell face first against the bed. If Frankie made any smartassed remark about my snores - that don’t happen! - I didn’t hear it. I was already asleep

I crashed for a several hours. When I woke up, I was hungry again so I raided Frankie’s kitchen for more food. He’d been thoughtful enough to pick up more sandwich bread from the bodega.

It wasn’t until I had swallowed down the last bite of a sandwich made up of soft grey cheese and leftover bologna that I found myself wondering over exactly what I was eating. This was Marcone’s mind. Everything in it was made up of Marcone’s subconscious, even the bologna meat. And I was eating it.

I was distracted by the nausea inducing thoughts of wondering if I was actually eating bits of Marcone’s soul or something more sinister when Frankie got back from his patrol of the city.

“What‘s wrong? Is the cheese off?” Frankie asked in concern. He walked over to where I was leaning back against the couch and trying not to be sick.

“No, I just found myself wondering about what exactly I was eating,” I said, waving a hand at the leftover food I hadn’t been able to think about finishing. I’d made several of those sandwiches and had eaten all but one.

Frankie leaned closer to me to peer at the plate. “I‘d say it‘s cheese, bread and bologna.”

“No, smartass, I mean in the broader sense. It’s not real cheese. This is Marcone’s mind! What is it really?” I asked, giving the sandwich a disturbed look. Other than still being different shades of grey it remained innocuous.

Frankie laughed and sat next to me on the couch, shifting the plate. I caught it before it could spill. “You could call it headcheese,” he said cheerfully. He sprawled out his arms, resting them on the back. And his fingers ended up tickling the hairs on my head.

“You have a sick sense of humor,” I said, grimacing. My stomach rolled uncomfortably to the left.

“It‘s filled you up, right?” Frankie asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.

I nodded.

“Then what’s the problem?” he asked curiously.

I frowned. “It’s not a problem exactly. It’s just… I‘m energized, in a way I haven‘t been since before I got shot and I‘ve been using my magic a lot since. My reserves should be drained nearly to the dredges, but since I ate those sandwiches those reserves have been getting replenished. A lot of magical power comes from living things. Marcone is the only living thing here. He‘s the only fuel for my magic.”

“So what, you think you‘re eating bits of Marcone‘s mind?”

“More like his soul,” I said grimly. The idea was disturbing as hell, and while I knew that taking tiny bites of Marcone’s soul wouldn’t hurt him in the long run since souls can regenerate, I couldn’t help but think about how White Court vampires fed on life force. Or how the Nightmare had taken a big bite out of me and stolen my magic. I was doing something that _felt_ entirely too similar to Marcone. I was using him to power myself.

And it wasn’t like I’d asked for permission, either. The entire thing made me feel sick.

Frankie frowned and I noticed that the shadow that clung to his fade looked it had receded a little. I could see more of his upper face including the tip of his nose.

“Is it going to hurt you?” Frankie asked.

I stared at him in surprise. That wasn’t the question I’d been expecting at all.

“No,” I said slowly as I evaluated myself. “Actually, since I‘m not as drained in power, I think I‘ll be able to pull off more magic without having to worry about using myself up.” I already felt stronger, even more solid. I hadn’t realized how weak I’d been feeling until now that I felt better.

“Then it’s no big deal. Keep eating when you’re hungry,” Frankie said, with a decisive nod. He handed me the plate. “Finish that.”

I sighed, shoved my alarm away for later consideration and grabbed the plate. I couldn’t do anything about it. And Frankie was right, as much as I hated the idea, having my magic back and not having to worry about running out was a benefit I couldn’t afford to turn away. Not now.

“How was your walk?” I asked, around a mouthful of sandwich.

“Fine,” Frankie answered. “Considering how the day started? It was surprisingly calm.”

“No giant robotic saber-toothed tigers roaming the streets?”

He chuckled. “I’m in one piece, aren’t I?” He held out his arms. “See, not even a scratch.”

I nodded. “Are you heading out again?”

“Yeah no rest for the wicked,” he grinned. “I just came back to check on you.”

“Okay,” I said, and got off the couch to put away the dirty plate. “I‘m coming with you this time.”

Frankie frowned after me. “Why? You‘re safer here.”

I snorted at that and said, “Frankie, I need to figure out a way to get the hell out of Marcone‘s head. Staying safe isn‘t exactly the goal here.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay, but if I tell you to run then you better do it.”

“You‘re not the only one that can take care of himself,” I said dryly.

He tilted his head at me. “I‘m not saying you can‘t, but I know Marcone‘s mind a lot better than you. I know where all the dangerous spots are. That tiger may be the most dangerous aspect of Marcone‘s mind but it isn‘t the only one.”

Why was I not surprised? “Okay, okay, you‘re the Marcone expert.”

Frankie smirked at me.

So together we headed out of Frankie’s neighborhood and into downtown Grey Chicago.

As the only cop in Marcone’s mind, Frankie told me that he walked the entire city, though he mostly stuck to the downtown streets. It was impressive considering the size of Grey Chicago. From what I could see this mental city was to scale of the real Chicago. And he was doing it all on foot. Apparently he preferred it that way, using a car would make it too easy for him to miss something.

I was just glad that I’m a walker. Otherwise, I’d have gotten sore feet. Somehow I doubted that not having a body would have saved me from blisters.

“It helps that I don‘t have to go into the buildings,” he explained, as we walked along the Chicago River towards the Michigan Avenue Bridge. I could see the Sun Times building across the grey water. “That makes my beat a little faster. If I had to add a vertical patrol as well as a street one it would take me a week just to cover all of downtown.”

I considered the skyline. Chicago was considered the birthplace of the skyscraper for a reason. It even was home to the tallest building in the US. I didn’t even want to think about how long it would take one man to patrol inside them. “Huh, I can see that. But why not?”

“Most of skyscrapers hold Marcone’s memories,” Frankie explained. “If I go into them too much I draw the attention of the saber-toothed tiger. And then I’d end up being the mouse in a cat-and-mouse game.”

“Sounds like the voice of experience.”

He shrugged. “I still go into them once in a while. The TV doesn‘t always work, and I need to keep up on whatever Marcone is doing. Sometimes, it‘s the only way to know what going on out there.”

“Is that how you knew who I was, from the stored memories?” Was there information about me in one of those skyscrapers? How much research into my life had Marcone conducted? I was torn between wanting to know and existing in happy denial about all Marcone had found out about me.

Frankie shot me a smirk. “No. Whenever you show up in Marcone‘s life, the TV works. You sure get Marcone‘s emotions going.”

I made a disgusted face and Frankie’s grin widened.

“What I’d say about saying things like that,” I grumbled. He just laughed at me. I sighed. I rescue the man from a giant metal prehistoric monster and I get no respect. My afterlife resembled my former life entirely too much.

After a couple of hours of wandering Chicago, I got hit by the idea of visiting my apartment, or at least Marcone’s version of it.

“That’s not a good idea, Harry,” Frankie said, clearly not enthused by the idea

“I‘m going with or without you,” I said, walking in the direction of my apartment.

Frankie growled but jogged after me. “Even I don‘t know what in there!”

“Then don‘t you think it‘s a good time to find out?” I said, tossing him a smirk over my shoulder.

He growled again.  
*-*-*-*

Happily, it turned out that the boarding house was first building in the city that wasn’t an exact replica of the real one. If it had been accurate it would have been a burned out shell. Instead, it was whole, grey and an entirely welcome sight.

I had to slow down as I approached, and swallow down hard against the lump that rose in my throat.

“You walk all this way and you‘re not going in?” Frankie asked. He looked at me where I had frozen in place as I stared at the replicated boarding house. I tried to control my expression but something of my anguish must have leaked through because he put his hand on my shoulder. “What‘s wrong?” he asked quietly.

I shook my head. “It‘s just… last time I saw my home, it was burning down.” I’d also been pretty badly hurt. The whole incident had started me on the path that had led to me taking up the mantle of the Winter Knight. It made me think that the hellhounds which had been after me had cause to chase me down whether they wanted to eat me or drag me down to hell. But I wasn’t going to tell Frankie about it because the last thing I wanted was to suck him into my mess. And… I liked the fact that he didn’t know.

“I‘m sorry, I didn‘t know that,” Frankie said gently. He squeezed my shoulder. “You can change your mind, you know. I still say you shouldn‘t go in there. Memories can be dangerous. Sometimes they’re little more than files, but sometimes they‘re more than that. It‘s easy to get lost in them.”

“You don‘t even know if there are memories in there,” I pointed out. The fact that Frankie hadn’t been in the apartment was one of a lot of the reasons why I wanted to go in. I wanted to see what Marcone would keep in the building that held my apartment.

Frankie shrugged. “I‘ve never needed to.”

“I might as well find out what Marcone knows about me,” I said. Even though I was dead and Marcone couldn’t make me any deader, I wanted to find out what he knew about me. It was too good of an opportunity to pass by. And who’s to say I wouldn’t find something that I could later use. Or maybe even a way to get out of Marcone’s head, although I really doubted it would be so easy.

“You know there‘s no guarantee that‘s what you‘ll find, right?” Frankie asked. “Just because the Trump Tower is full of the memory files of Marcone‘s business practice there‘s no reason that your information will be in there.”

“Well, I‘ll never find out if I stay out here,” I said, as I threw back my shoulders and marched down the stairs. “Are you coming?” I called over my shoulder.

“I think I better stay put and keep an eye out for the tiger,” Frankie said. “You just listen for gun shots.”

“I‘ll come running,” I agreed. I cautiously walked down the steps leading to my apartment door. I was lucky the door wasn’t locked; the only difficulty I had was in prying the door open. Marcone had never been to my apartment but he knew how hard it was to open up the steel door I’d installed a few years ago. Okay. There was a creepy feeling going up my spine and I wasn’t even inside yet.

I was careful as I popped by head in, and I half-expected my cat to come running out to barrel into my legs. I had to swallow down my bitter disappointment when I got no sign of Mister. I knew it wasn’t rational, it wasn’t like he‘d be the real Mister, but I’d died not knowing what happened to him.

I shoved those thoughts out of my mind and focused on the inside of my apartment there were candles burning in the living room but that’s were the eerily similarity ended. The couch and carpets weren’t the same. Hell, even the shape of my fireplace was off, though it was in the same place. I sighed in relief. I’d been worried that Marcone knew how the apartment had looked and considering the man had never been inside it that would really have freaked me out.

Another difference was the addition of a coat stand near the door where a version of my duster hung. I grabbed it and put it on. The duster fit me perfectly. It felt and even smelled exactly how the original once had. I closed my eyes and savored the sensation. I had lost the real duster in the fight against the Red Court, it hadn‘t been able to stand up to taking all the damage that had been launched at me though it had protected me valiantly. This facsimile duster was a mental balm in a way I couldn‘t really explain. It meant so much to me to get to wear it again even if it was as real as Grey Chicago.

I opened my eyes again and looked around. Leaning against the wall next to the bedroom door was a staff. I picked it up and examined it. I wasn’t surprised to see that Marcone had memorized the sigils carved into the wood and reproduced them faithfully. He’d even managed to get the feel and weight right, which really made me wonder. Only when I tried to pour some of my will power through it, there was nothing. The staff was just a pretty stick carved with interesting arcane symbols. Not a tool for my magic.

Of course, it wouldn’t be so easy.

I sighed in disappointment and settled the staff back against the wall. That’s when I heard a groan come through the slighted open door of my bedroom.

I walked over, keeping my steps light. Again, a groan sounded: low, deep and almost pained. I pressed my hand against the door and gently pushed it open. What I saw inside my bedroom made me blink and freeze in place.

Sprawled against a bigger bed than I had ever owned was a naked Marcone. He was leaning back against me. Well, a grey ghostly version of me. Marcone was a lot more solid but also the same shade of grey.

Grey-Harry’s hand was wrapped around Marcone’s slick cock, sliding up and down in a tight fist. I could see the muscles in Marcone’s abdomen shift as he lifted his hips and the muscles in his thighs tensed. He groaned a deep sound that made me swallow in sympathy, as Grey-Harry thumbed the leaking head. Grey-Harry was mouthing Marcone’s neck deep kisses and bites. Each bite made Marcone shudder, and his toes curled.

They were so wrapped in each other they hadn’t noticed me open the door. I inhaled shakily, and then I carefully backed away from the door. As soon as I was clear I spun on my heel and I hurried through the living room and out the front door.

“What‘s wrong?” Frankie asked, as he saw me come up the stairs at a dead run.

I didn’t look at him as my cheeks burned. “I found out what Marcone was keeping in there,” I mumbled, slowing down but walking quickly away. Frankie had to stretch his legs to keep up with me.

Frankie caught me by the arm to slow me down. “Harry, what happened? What did you find?”

“Nothing,” I said, and tried to tug free of his grip. Frankie didn’t let go.

“Right,” he said, skeptically. “That‘s why you ran out of there like your tail was set on fire.”

“They weren‘t memories.” Frankie just kept looking at me. Even without able to see his eyes underneath the shadow I could feel the weight of his stare. I rubbed at my red cheeks but it didn‘t help get rid of my blush. I said reluctantly, “I found Marcone‘s fantasies. About me.”

“Really?” Frankie burst out laughing. I glared at him. “That makes sense,” he chuckled. “Where else would he keep them? I told-”

“Yeah, yeah,” I interrupted sourly before I hear the I-told-you-so. Then I rubbed at my eyes. I hadn’t expected such a clearly intimate moment to be in Marcone‘s mind, especially one that had never even happened. And for him to be holding onto it so tight in his mind that it came part of the fabric of his subconscious - of Grey Chicago - it had to mean something to him. Something that I didn’t really want to think about, not that I could avoid it now. The images were practically Sight-level detailed in my mind and as likely for me to forget them.

Frankie stopped laughing and stiffened. He snapped, “Freeze!”

I stilled, as much from surprise as from the authority in his voice. He had his head tilted up and I followed the direction of his gaze.

Standing on the roof of an apartment building that shouldn’t have been able to support all that weight was the huge robotic saber-toothed tiger. Of course, it always got worse.

The metal beast was snuffling at the air, and its ears turned towards where we stood.

“Has it seen us?” I whispered, moving back towards Frankie.

“It knows we‘re here,” Frankie whispered back. “I don‘t think it‘s seen us yet. The alcove here hides us from view.”

The tiger stood up on all fours. In a simultaneous movement Frankie and I pressed closer to the shadow of the building.

“Well, at least we know for sure that you‘re the one that‘s catching the tiger‘s attention,” Frankie said.

“Great,” I whispered. “So, I‘ll die _again_ knowing I was the target all along. I’d hate to have been eaten by accident.”

He ignored my sarcasm. He said quietly, “There‘s no school near this neighborhood. There‘s to many businesses.”

“I know.” Being careful of innocent bystanders had been one of the reasons I’d picked this area to live in the first place and not just because of the low rent. I frowned as I mentally reviewed all the surrounding areas. Then I had to think about Marcone’s personality. It wasn’t just kids that he made a point of protecting. “There‘s a community center only a couple of blocks away. Do you think the tiger will go inside one?”

Frankie’s mouth tightened and he shook his head. “I don‘t know. I‘ve never tried one.”

“What places will it stay away from?” I asked.

“Schools, churches, hospitals and parks with families.”

The last one made me wince. Right. “The community center is closer than any of those.” The tiger roared. The sound was so loud that I could feel it deep in my chest, making my incorporeal heart ache. Everything around us shook. “Run?”

“Run,” Frankie agreed. And we took off.


	4. Chapter 4

I didn’t run as fast as I could. I have very long legs, and if I kicked into top speed I would have pulled too far away from Frankie so to stay close I matched his pace. Just in case. Unfortunately our running also caught the saber-toothed tiger’s attention and again it roared. Then it leapt off the building‘s roof.

Impossibly, it landed right in front of us.

 _“Fozare!”_ I shouted without hesitation, gesturing at the tiger. I poured all the new power I’ve build up into a strong blow. It knocked the tiger into an electronics store. The glass of the windows display made an ugly shattering noise. White-grey electrical sparks jumped onto the sidewalk. _“Fozare!”_ I said again, knocking the tiger further into the store.

We ran past it. The tiger snarled in metallic rage. I looked back and saw it struggle out of the window but it didn’t take it long to pull out and get back on its feet. It wasn’t even dented. Dammit. The tiger’s eyes caught my gaze. And for a split second I could’ve sworn I caught puzzlement in them.

Then Frankie shot the tiger.

The loud bark of the revolver made me jerk away in surprise. Frankie kept steadily firing. He was running backwards and still managed to hit his target: the fragile glass eyes.

The tiger jerked and yowled in pain. I heard the sound of glass falling to the ground. A piteous whimper nearly made me stop. It sounded too much like Mister’s cries when he’d been little more than a kitten. Frankie grabbed my hand as I slowed down and pulled me after him.

“That won‘t stop it long,” he said urgently, clasping my hand tightly. “It heals quickly!”

He was right. We’d just made it to the doors of the community center when we heard that street shaking roar again. But it turned out that my guess about the community center being a safety zone had been right. The tiger stayed outside where it snarled and paced. When I looked out through a window I caught an eyeful of fangs longer than my arm. Yikes.

Grey-ghost people wandered around ignoring the giant robotic saber-toothed tiger in their midst. The tiger ignored them too. No matter how close they got to the tiger, it didn‘t even turn to growl at them.

I frowned at a grey-man who got less than a foot to the tiger. Hell, even if the denizens of Grey Chicago were used to that beast running around, it was impressive enough to warrant a second look and getting so close smacked of suicide. “Can‘t they see it?”

Frankie looked up to me from where he’d been reloading his gun. “No. The tiger doesn‘t exist to them.”

I considered what that said about Marcone’s mind.

“I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again, Marcone’s screwed up,” I said, with a shake of my head.

Frankie grinned, and it made me notice that the shadow that clung to his face had receded yet again so now it was more like a domino mask. Combined with the vivid blue police uniform and the gold star-shield, it really made him look a super-hero.

Super-Frankie, I liked that.

“So how long do you think it‘ll take before the tiger gives up this time?” I asked. “It‘s got to pissed that you shot it in the eyes.”

“It always is but if I had to guess? It won’t even be here for the hour,” he said, leaning to look out the window. The tiger growled rattling the windows and Frankie looked at me. “With this many innocent bystanders around, the tiger doesn‘t like to stick around.”

I nodded. If I ever doubted that the tiger was part of Marcone’s mind, those words would have convinced me. Sure, I’d once seen that Marcone had a tiger soul but I sure as hell hadn’t expected that observation to include him having saber-toothed tiger robot in his subconscious mind. It hadn’t exactly been an obvious jump when I’d seen his soul.

Frankie turned out to be right yet again - no surprise there - about how long the tiger stuck around. Less than twenty minutes after we’d run in with it at our heels there was no sign or scrap of metallic fur around, none at all. This was a good thing since my stomach had spent the last ten minutes rumbling away.

Hell, it sounded like the tiger had taken up residence in my abdomen.

“Please, tell me we can make a pit stop without having to worry about the tiger coming back?” I groaned. My stomach rumbled in demand yet again.

“I thought you were worried about eating parts of Marcone‘s soul,” Frankie said, grinning at me. My stomach growled louder.

I grimaced. Hell, yes, I hated the idea. “I used too much magic in getting away,” I explained. I hated to say it but I couldn‘t ignore being able to refuel. If I had another weapon at my disposal… maybe then I could but I didn‘t. “My gut wins out over my head in this case.”

Frankie nodded. “It‘s not a good idea to let your magic run low.” My stomach gave another growl of agreement.

I leaned towards him, giving him my best piteous look. “Feed me.”

He laughed, shoving me away. “Okay, okay! Don’t give me those puppy dog eyes.”  
*-*-*-*

There was a working Burger King, a replica of the one that I frequented while alive, near to the community center. There I ordered six burgers - or I should say - had Frankie order for me since the grey-people still acted like I didn‘t exist.

Frankie wasn’t hungry but he kept me company. Yes, all six burgers are mine. Hey, I can eat a lot. I have a lot of mass to feed at 6 feet 9 inches.

“I owe you one for the burgers,” I said, around a mouthful.

Frankie shook his head. “Don‘t worry about it. They didn‘t cost anything. There‘s no money here.”

Huh. That was surprising. No money in Grey Chicago? I wouldn’t have thought that of Marcone at all.

I swallowed down my mouthful and asked, “You said before that the tiger didn‘t show up so often. Why not?”

“We’ve learned each other‘s limits,” Frankie said, he absently touched his glowing CPD shield. “I don‘t make my presence too obvious and the tiger doesn’t come after me.”

“What do you mean?”

Frankie looked out the window, checking the passing cars before he looked at me. “The people, they’re representations of Marcone‘s thoughts, of his ideas, of things he‘s considering to do or not to do. That‘s why they drive around and why they move back and forth through the buildings, accessing memories and letting Marcone think. I can talk to them, here and there. I can even get them to change, a little. But I can‘t gather the attention of too many of them at once. I’ve tried that. I tried to stay in Marcone‘s thoughts so he wouldn’t forget me.”

“Which is when the tiger would come after you,” I said quietly.

“It wasn‘t in here initially,” Frankie said. “But then Marcone built it to hunt me down.”

Stars and stones. “Frankie…”

He gently patted the top of my hand, resting his hand there in reassurance. “Don‘t worry, Harry, I‘ve told you, we‘ve managed to work out a balance.”

“And then I show up and ruin it,” I groaned. “I nearly got you eaten.”

Frankie chuckled. “I‘d say it was worth it.” He added wistfully, “Do you know how long it’s been since I‘ve had a long conversation with someone? Someone who isn’t see-through and grey?”

“Too long?” I asked, sympathetically, turning my hand around to squeeze his fingers.

“Entirely too long,” he answered, smiling at me. “I‘m glad you‘re here.”  
*-*-*-*

Stepping out of Burger King and onto the streets of Grey Chicago I noticed something different. The overcast sky was changing. The thick grey clouds where beginning to thin.

I frowned up at it. So if a storm formed when Marcone was pissed off what was he feeling now? “What does that mean?”

Frankie looked up too. “Fuck.”

I turned to stare at him. “You know, I don‘t exactly feel happy when you say stuff like that,” I said dryly. “Time to run again?”

Frankie’s brilliant grin flashed at me. “Only if you don‘t want to get sucked into the cube.” He turned and jogged away.

I ran after him, stretching my legs to run at his side. “Cube?” Okay, I really was getting why my brother found my habit of withholding information so irritating. “What cube?”

“You‘ll see it in a second.”

I grumbled. It was hard to job to keep an eye on the sky and not run into anything solid but I managed it without tripping. I was glad I was watching the sky, because otherwise I wouldn’t have seen how the parting clouds revealed a flat pale grey sky with a large glowing square. A cube began to descend from the square towards Grey Chicago.

I blinked in surprise as I recognized the shimmer of the sides of the cube. It was the exact same soap-bubble colors and bright glow I’d seen in the Realm of Dreams.

“Marcone is dreaming,” I realized.

“Yeah, he is,” Frankie nodded.

The cube descended until it touched the ground. It absorbed all the buildings and people in its path. As soon as it stopped moving, the white light shone up from the top of the cube to the sky like a spotlight. The cube was huge, a lot bigger than the dream spheres. The dream cube took over an entire block of Grey Chicago.

“Why did you want us to run?” I asked Frankie.

“If you get in the way when the dream first begins, you get changed right along with everything else,” Frankie explained. “You forget who you are and become part of the dream.”

“Hell‘s bells,” I said. I didn’t even want to consider where I’d end up in Marcone’s dreams… um… again. Especially, not when I wasn’t even aware it wasn’t real. I frowned, but that hadn’t happened when I entered another’s dream before. Maybe the difference was that I was _inside_ of Marcone’s head this time.

I considered the huge glowing cube for a moment before I started walking towards it.

“Whoa,” Frankie said. He caught the sleeve of the duster to stop me. “You‘re not thinking about going inside it, are you?”

“I got in here through a dream,” I said. “I might be able to leave Marcone‘s mind through it.”

“Okay, that sound logical,” Frankie said. “But what if it doesn‘t work? What if you get changed? You‘re not exactly a normal part of Marcone‘s mind. You’re not used to being in here, what if you stay changed?”

That was a scary thought. If I lost who I was entirely, then I’d really be dead. But this was possibly the only way I had to get out. The entire time I’ve walked the cityscape of Marcone’s subconscious I hadn’t seen any other way. And even worse, Frankie didn’t have a clue either, and he should know. I had to take the chance that I could get out the same way I’d gotten in. I hoped.

“I‘ll have to risk it,” I said, quietly. “What other choice do I have? I can‘t stay here, Frankie. I‘ve got too many people depending on me.”

“You’re dead, Harry,” he said gently. “What can you do for them? You could stay here.”

“Stay in Marcone‘s head?” I asked. Even knowing that Grey Chicago was Marcone’s mind, it was almost tempting. Other than the tiger, nothing had tried to kill me, or explode me or subvert me. It actually pretty restful, wandering around this version of Chicago at Frankie’s side. But… it wasn’t real, not even the people, other than Frankie. If I stayed, I’d just go crazy wondering what was happening outside, to my friends and to the real world.

“I could use the company.”

“I can‘t. I may be dead, but I‘ve got people to take care of,” I said softly. “I didn’t just die by accident. I was murdered. But what if I‘m not the only one they’re going after? What about my friends? I have enemies and they know who I care about. They‘re going to be in danger. I need do see what I can do.”

“But you‘re dead, Harry.”

“Like you are? You‘re still making yourself felt.”

“Only a little.”

“And sometimes that‘s all that‘s needed. A little difference that makes the world a better place,” I looked back at the glowing cube. “And in here, I can‘t even do that much.” I gave him a reassuring grin. “And even if my friends can’t see me, I can still talk to them. I know an ectomancer. I can’t just give up. It isn’t in me.”

Frankie shook his head but smiled at me. “I hate to say it, but I understand.” He let my sleeve go.

I walked to the cube. I was right that it was exactly the same as the dream bubbles. I could hear shouts and gunfire from a good distance. The world inside that cube was nothing like Grey Chicago.

“Harry, wait,” I turned to Frankie, who handed me his gun. “Here, you may need this.”

I considered the service revolver for a second before nodding. My magic was powerful, and I was energized again, but without my staff or blasting rod I had less control than usual. And I was rather reluctant to call fire or even soulfire while inside of Marcone’s mind. I had no idea what kind of damage it could do. “Thanks.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Frankie, as a muffled scream of terror came through the cube walls.

“No,” I said. And pushed into the dream anyway.

Nearly at once, I yelped and dived to the side as a massively clawed forearm swiped at where my head had been. Another claw racked down the side of the duster. But like the original, the duster caught and held the sharp claw at bay.

I rolled across the slick stone floor and went up on a crouch. _“Fozare!”_ I shouted, and caught the bounding super-ghoul like a golf swing, smacking it across the cave of the Deeps.

Crap. Marcone wasn’t just dreaming, he was remembering. And I had showed up in a spot that put about thirty super-ghouls between me and Marcone.

I could see him from where I was trying to hide. He and his merry band of Monoc mercenaries were shooting rapid fire into the bulk gathering of the ghouls. If I hadn’t already been ducking I’d have caught a stray round. There was no way that I’d be able to reach him without getting ripped apart or shot. And I didn’t want to know that it would do to me when I didn’t even have a body anymore.

I looked back from where I’d stumbled and unlike the dream bubbles, I could see through to Grey Chicago. What should have been have been solid cave walls were semi-translucent. I could even see Frankie, staring into the spot where I’d vanished, his hands clenched at his sides.

That meant I should be able to get back without having to wait for Marcone to wake up. I hoped.

I swallowed down hard, and tried not to think about how difficult it would be for me to get to Marcone to wake him up if that didn’t work. I waited for the lull in the gunfire I knew would be coming. Then I made a run for it.

It took more effort and the application of my will but I was able to push out of the dream cube.

But it _hurt._

I gasped as I stumbled out and would have fallen if Frankie hadn’t caught me.

“Okay, that wasn‘t my best idea,” I admitted, as I drooped in his arms.

“What happened?” Frankie asked, as he set me back on my feet.

“Marcone was remembering the fight in the Deeps,” I said.

“Oh, that‘s not good,” Frankie said. “I caught that whole fight on the TV. It‘s a miracle any of you made it out alive.”

“Yeah, I didn‘t want to push my luck in a second attempt,” I agreed. I turned back to where the cube still stood. Now knowing what was happening inside I couldn’t help but grimace at the sounds that escape it.

“I hated to say it, but I think I’ll have to get back inside so I can talk to Marcone,” I groaned.

“You should wait and try it when he dreams again,” he said.

“Why wait?” I asked. “It’s taken hours for Marcone to start dreaming.”

“It won‘t take that much time,” Frankie said, with a headshake. “You forget that people have multiple dreams throughout the night. This one will end and another will begin in about an hour. Trust me, when he’s dreaming it can get exciting in here just watching for descending cubes.”

I blinked. That was true. I had forgotten that REM sleep in humans happened multiple times. I could wait until the next dream instead of facing that memory with super-ghouls. That plan was a lot more appealing than risking getting ripped apart.

I had barely opened my mouth to agree with Frankie’s idea when I was cut off by a leonine roar.

“Stars and stones, not again,” I protested. Frankie grinned at me and started running. I followed after him. “Now, where are we going?” I yelled.

“A church!”   
*-*-*-*

We got away by the skin of our teeth. Or should I say, the skin of Frankie‘s left leg. Frankie had caught a nasty swipe of the tiger’s claws that would have hamstrung me if he hadn‘t slowed down and caught the beast‘s attention. I hadn’t realized how badly he’d been hurt until we were safe inside the church.

And now he was bleeding all over the church’s polished tiled floor.

“Hell bells,” I said, as I dropped to my knees beside him. Frankie’s face was pale and he had both hands clamped around his bleeding leg, right above the ankle. I could see ragged torn skin through the slashes in the pant leg. His red blood all over the floor looked too vivid against the grey wood to be real.

“I slowed down to shoot it,” he admitted, through clenched teeth. “I forgot, you still had my gun.”

I cursed again. I should have given it back to him. I had magic, he didn’t. That gun was the only weapon he had. Dammit, dammit, dammit this was my fault.

“I can see you blaming yourself, you know,” Frankie gritted. “Cut it out. It‘s not helping.”

I swallowed down hard. “Right, there’s got to be a first aid kit around here.”

“Yeah, in the back,” Frankie said. His fingers were so tight around his legs that his knuckles were going white.

I hurried. I found a rather simple first aid kit in the office behind the altar, to the left side of the sanctuary. When I got back, Frankie had his head down, and for a split second I feared I’d misjudged the severity of the injury. Then I saw that he was examining the wound through his fingers.

“How bad is it?” I asked, as I reached his side.

“Not too bad, I think. It hurts like hell but I can move my foot so no tendon damage,” he answered. He looked up at me and I dropped the first aid kit. The shadow that’d been clinging to his face had finally faded away.

Revealing the face a young John Marcone.

I stared at him.

“Harry?” he asked.

“What- How-” I swallowed, feeling betrayed. All this time, I‘d been thinking he was just an innocent guy. But he was Marcone. “You lied to me,” I said flatly.

He frowned at me. The green of his eyes was the same hunter green I’d seen in Helen Beckitt’s soul and not the usual cold pale shade I was used to seeing in Marcone‘s eyes. He turned his head and caught his reflection on nearby glass. “Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” I said sarcastically.

Frankie - Marcone - whatever! - sighed. “Can I explain after my leg stops bleeding?”

I crossed my arms and glowered at him. “No.”

“I won‘t be able to explain anything when I pass out,” he said dryly.

I wavered then sighed in agreement. “Fine, but explain as I work,” I said coolly. I snapped over the first aid kit, pulled out bandages, scissors, and alcohol.

“I didn‘t lie to you, Harry,” he said, gasping as I cut apart his pant legs and pulled the blue cloth apart none too gently. “My name _is_ Franco Moretti.”

I refused to look up at him as I worked.

He continued, “I was only a couple of days away from graduating from the academy when I got approached by an FBI agent to go undercover. They wanted someone inside to take down the Vargassi family, especially Tony Vargassi.”

I stilled. “Undercover?” Hell’s bells, that was possible. That was entirely possible. There were several law enforcement agencies that were always sending people undercover in order to take down criminals like the mafia. Marcone… Officer Franco Moretti would be perfect for them.

“I‘m Italian, I know Chicago, and I was just rough enough around the edges to be believable as a street thug,” he said. “So I agreed to do it.”

I finally looked up at him but his face was turned away with a faraway look, lost in thought. “But you said Marcone _killed_ you. I thought-” I cut myself off. I hadn’t thought. Not really, because it seemed obvious now. Who else would be in Marcone’s head but Marcone?

 _Dammit._

I _liked_ Frankie. The thought that he was really Marcone…

He sighed, and looked up at a stained glass window which lost so much of its beauty when the only color on it was grey. He pointed at it with a trembling, bloody red finger and the entire window flickered like a static filled TV screen. The flickering soon smoothed out into a color image of a Viking.

Well, not a real Viking, his modern clothes and the furniture around the big guy kind of gave away the present day setting, but he sure as hell looked like one. This modern Viking had a thick red mustache that turned into a big braided beard that spilled onto his wide chest. The hair on his head was thick, the same bright shade of red, and stopped right at his shoulders. If he’d been wearing leather instead of a shirt and jeans, I’d have thought biker instead of Viking.

“What happened, Frank?” rumbled the Viking, and I just about fell over when I recognized Hendricks’ voice.

“No way,” I breathed. I’d never seen Hendricks in anything less than a buzz cut.

“I fucked up,” came Frankie’s voice. The camera angle shifted around before coming back to Hendricks. The camera movement was too similar to how the TV had shown the world through Marcone’s eyes. This had to be a memory.

“A kid got killed,” continued the Frankie in the window. His voice was anguished. The camera angle turned yet again and I finally realized that he was pacing. “A little girl.”

It made me look down at the Frankie by my side.

 _His_ eyes were closed with pained lines around his mouth. And not from pain due to his injured leg, I was certain of it.

“-she was only ten years old!” I looked back at the window.

“Frank-” Hendricks said. Frankie’s point of view turned to him. “You knew bad things could happen when you decided to go undercover. We talked about it.”

“Yeah and I was fine with it because I’d thought it’d be to me or criminals,” Frankie laughed bitterly. “Not to little girls. In all the things I thought could happen, I’d never thought a kid would take a bullet meant for _me._ ” The view of the screen got blurry. The camera shifted around until Frankie was staring at himself in an oval mirror that hung on a wall. “I saw her dying, her parents screaming and I couldn‘t help. I couldn‘t do _anything_ but walk away. I‘m a _cop_ and I walked away.”

God, he was crying. Both Frankies.

The one at my side had tears were slowly dripping down his cheeks.

And… I couldn’t see Marcone in him… not anymore. Frankie was right. He wasn’t Marcone. I couldn’t image Marcone ever expressing such emotions. At least, not like this. The man was too controlled. And Frankie… he wasn’t.

“You should pull out, Frank,” asked Hendricks. “Go to the FBI. Agent Denton-”

In the mirror, I could see Frankie’s face harden at those words.

“-he won‘t let me,” he said flatly, interrupting Hendricks. “He wants me to stay in.”

“You can‘t! Frankie, if you stay in then Marco will kill you!”

“I know. I‘ve tried to talk to him to pull me out,” Frankie said grimly. “There’s no point. There’s not enough evidence on the Vargassi family to put them away. And the FBI wants me to stay in until there’s enough to make a solid arrest to take down the entire family, not just Marco.” Frankie faced Hendricks again. “And then what? Another family would just take over and the whole mess starts all over again.”

Hendricks frowned. “Frank… You‘ve got that look in your eyes that always ends up getting us in trouble.”

“The FBI’s plan of taking down one family at a time is stupid. That‘s no way to control crime. The only way to stop something like a little girl getting shot is control it all. All the crime in Chicago.”

My stomach dropped to my knees as I figured out where this was going.

“That‘s impossible, Frank. Even during the height of the mafia’s power they didn‘t control all crime in Chicago. How do you expect to do it?” Hendricks asked.

I noted that Hendricks didn’t doubt that Frankie could take over the mafia.

“With your help,” Frankie said, no - he was Marcone now he wasn’t Officer Franco Moretti. His expression was too flat, too hard. Frankie’s easier nature was already shoved away. No, more than that, it was locked away, never to be brought out again.

Hendricks groaned but nodded. “Fine, but if you get me killed, you‘ll have to explain to my mom what happened.”

“Alright,” Marcone agreed, without a hint of amusement.

Yeah… he was definitely Marcone now.

“What are you going to do about you?” Hendricks asked. “The real you, I mean. Frank Moretti can‘t just vanish into thin air. Too many people would start wondering where you went or notice how John Marcone looks an awful lot like a Frank they once knew.”

The camera gaze went back to the mirror, and Marcone’s old dollar bill green eyes stared back. “Officer Moretti will only get in my way,” he said coolly. “So he‘ll just have to die.”

Hendricks inhaled sharply. “There‘ll be no going back if you do that. You know that right? You‘ll leave yourself no way out, Frank.”

“I know and don’t call me that. Call me Johnny, I’m Johnny Marcone now.”

At those flat words the window pane flickered and went back to looking like grey-toned stained glass.


	5. Chapter 5

“Stars and stones,” I breathed, looking back at Frankie. And I wondered again at how he could become the same cold, ruthless man I knew as John Marcone. It just didn’t seem possible. I mean, I could see that they were obviously the same person; it wasn’t like Marcone was an evil twin or anything but it felt like he must have been because their personalities couldn’t have been any more different.

But then, Marcone had shoved Frankie deep into his mind and had even created the saber-toothed tiger to get rid of him. To rid himself of every trace of whom he’d once been.

“I wasn‘t lying,” Frankie said softly, wiping at his cheeks. “Practically everyone that I’ve ever known thinks I‘m dead. I even have a headstone with my name on it out there in the real world.”

All I could do was swallow down hard and nod. I knew how that felt like. I didn’t know how to react to that, so I tucked it away to consider later. I bent my head and silently finished wrapping up Frankie’s leg. Once I was done I got back to my feet avoiding looking at him.

“Harry…”

His hurt voice made me feel guilty, and then angry for feeling that way.

“Why didn‘t you just tell me?” I snapped, as I finally looked up to meet his eyes. “Why hide your face away in the shadow?”

Frankie touched his face. His fingers left behind a smear of red. “The shadow wasn‘t intentional,” he said slowly. “It’s crept up on me over the years.” He looked at me, and shrugged. His mouth twisted to the side in an unhappy slant. “To be honest, I didn‘t think it would ever fade away.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Why not?”

“Because I was losing myself. I was forgetting who I was,” he sighed, one hand drifting up to touch the glowing star on his chest. “Hell, I‘d even forgotten I wore my badge until you pointed it out to me. The more time went by, the more I forgot and the more my face got covered in shadow. I was even forgetting I was a cop.”

I lost my anger. Instead I was terrified for him. I’ve lost too many friends over the years and seen too many good people die. And regardless of my feelings about Marcone, Frankie wasn’t him. All I had to do was look into his eyes to see it.

“You may want to get out of here, but I‘m so glad you showed up, Harry,” Frankie continued.

“Frankie, why do you think the shadow faded away?” I asked, sitting down next to him on the floor.

He gave me a small smile. “Gee, I don’t know, what single thing has changed in my life in the last day?”

I blinked at him. “Oh.”

He laughed. “Yeah, oh! You‘re real. It‘s hard to feel like a real person when the only people you can talk to are see-through and grey manifestations of Marcone‘s mind.” He touched his golden star-shaped badge again. “You reminded me of who I am. Thanks.”

But that meant when I left, he’d be stuck in the same situation, slowly fading away into shadow. I scowled at the back of the pew in front of me, and tried not to feel guilty.

“Hey, you’ve got that look again.”

“What look?” I asked, eying him.

“That one that says you‘re blaming yourself for something,” Frankie smirked. “You know, the _stupid_ look.”

I mock-glared at him. “Oh gee, thanks.”

“You‘re not responsible for me, Harry. Stop thinking you are.”

I looked away and went back to scowling at the back of the pew. Then I tilted my head: something had been missing during our conversation. The saber-toothed tiger’s growls had stopped. I couldn’t hear anything. I stood up and walked to the church doors.

“What is it?” Frankie asked.

“Isn‘t it too soon for the tiger to leave? It usually prowls around growling at us at lot longer than this, but I don‘t hear it. Do you?”

Frankie listened and shook his head. “No I don‘t. And you‘re right, it should have been around for another half hour at least.”

I cautiously poked my head out the double doors and looked around but I didn’t see the tiger. Then I concentrated and Listened, but couldn’t hear it anywhere. I stepped out of the church. I wondered if the tiger had backed off to ambush us when we thought we were safe, but that wasn‘t a tactic it had used before. So wasn’t likely, it would start strategizing now.

I looked around, and some impulse made me look up at the sky. I saw that the clouds where parting. Right above the church.

Hell’s bells, it just never stopped.

“Frankie, we’ve got to go!” I yelled, running back to Frankie’s side. I slipped my arm around his waist and leveraged him up.

He groaned but didn’t hesitate and started hobbling out the door. As soon as we were outside, he saw the reason for my urgency: the sky above us was clear, and the glowing square had appeared. The dream cube would start descending at any moment and we were smack in the middle of where it would land.

Frankie hobbled faster.

I took as much of his weight off his injured leg as I could without slowing us down, and even then we barely made it. The cube touched the ground with only two feet of clearance from us.

“We’re okay. We’re okay,” I panted, eying the glowing cube wall. Hell, that was too close. I didn’t want to find out first hand how it felt to have one of those things land on my head.

“Yeah, I’m just fine,” Frankie agreed with a pained grin. “Except for the cat scratches.”

I snorted in amusement but double-checked his leg anyway. The bandages weren’t any bloodier than when I wrapped them. So our limping attempt at a run hadn’t torn anything. Good.

I got back up to continue to help Frankie, but he pulled back from my hands.

“You should try entering the dream again,” Frankie said, nodding at the cube. “This one sounds better than the last one.”

He was right. The cube was pretty quiet, especially compared to the barrage of noise we’d heard from the last dream. There was just the occasional faint sound of traffic. I looked over my shoulder at the glowing wall of the cube and then back at him. “I should get you home first.”

Frankie shook his head. “No, Harry. You should try leaving now.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“The tiger is finding us faster than before,” he pointed out. “There‘s too much of a chance it‘ll catch you before you get another change to leave. Go now, while you still can.”

I shook my head. When I was alive I’d never been the sort of man who could leave a wounded friend behind, and I wasn‘t about to start now that I was dead. “Frankie, if I go in there the tiger will find you out here.”

He rolled his hunter green eyes, and held out his hand palm up. “All I need is my gun.”

“What you need is a machine gun, or a rocket launcher,” I said, but handed him back his revolver. Frankie checked the chambers before putting it back into its holster at his side.

“I‘m serious, Harry. Go.”

“Screw that,” I snapped, and wrapped my arm around his waist. “You said that Marcone will dream again. I can wait.”

“Harry…”

“Frankie. Shut. Up,” I said. He did. “You‘re my friend, okay. I don‘t leave friends behind to get eaten by giant robot tigers or normal tigers or anything at all.” Together we walked through the streets of Grey Chicago leaving the dream cube behind. “Although, I really wish you had a car now.”

He huffed with laughter.

“Hey, can we take the train?” Normally, I avoided public transportation because of the effect I had on technology. But I already knew that I wouldn’t affect the tech representations in Marcone’s head.

“Not a good idea,” Frankie said grimly.

I shot him a surprised look. “Why not?”

“The only CTA train route to get home goes underground, it’s not elevated,” he said. “Think about it, what could be in an underground area of Marcone‘s subconscious mind?”

“Bad things?”

“Dangerous things,” he said flatly. “Not even the people use the subway system.”

“Here be monsters,” I muttered.

“If we‘re lucky,” Frankie said. “Monsters I can shoot.”

I grinned at him but stuck to helping Frankie walk instead of convincing him to risk the train. I’m not a coward but even I don’t want to think about facing whatever could be deep inside of Marcone’s mind. I’d already regretted following Frankie’s advice about entering my apartment, so I was going to listen to the man this time.

“So, if you‘re able to get out via the dream… what will you do?” Frankie asked, as we walked.

I blinked at him. “Um, why do you want to know?”

He shot me an exasperated look. “It‘s not like I‘ll find out through Marcone, at least not right away. I‘ll worry about you, you idiot.”

I blushed. “Err, right.”

He snorted. “You‘re not used to hearing that, are you?”

“Not usually,” I admitted. It’s not like my friends and family haven’t expressed their worry about me in the past, but they’ve also seen what I can do. So I didn’t hear it much these days. “I haven’t really been thinking about it,” I admitted. “First, I just wanted out of the Nevernever. Then I ended up in here.”

“You said you know an ectomancer?” Frankie asked. “What’s that? I‘ve never heard that title before.”

“An ectomancer is another name for a medium,” I explained. “They can see and talk to ghosts. They can even ask ghosts to do things for them.”

“So that‘s what you meant about being able to get a message to your friends.”

“Yeah,” I said. I was really, really glad I knew an ectomancer. That talent was rare, and if Mortimer Lindquist had lived in any other city but Chicago, my plan would be a lot harder to pull off. Hell, it still would be but at least I wouldn’t have to travel far

“Are you going to use your magic to come back to life?”

I blinked. “I- I hadn‘t really thought about coming back to life.”

“Why not?”

“Because it‘s necromancy,” I said. “And necromancy is one of the Laws of Magic that you don‘t break. At least not without getting a battalion of angry Wardens arriving at your doorstep to chop your head off.”

Frankie frowned. “Really? What exactly does the Law say?”

“Thou shalt not reach beyond the borders of life,” I quoted.

Frankie raised his eyebrows. “That‘s it?”

“It‘s pretty self-explanatory,” I said dryly. “You don’t use magic to bind the dead or to resurrect a person. The only loophole I found was that you can raise dead animals, but it doesn‘t make the Wardens happy.”

Frankie smirked at me. “So you don‘t see the other loophole?”

I stared at him. “What other loophole?”

“The Law is ‘Thou shalt not reach beyond the borders of life’, but it doesn’t say anything about reaching towards life from the borders of death.”

I stopped walking. Frankie would have stumbled but he’d been waiting for a reaction from me.

“No… it can‘t be that easy,” I murmured.

“Who‘s saying it‘s easy?” Frankie snorted. “It‘s just a loophole. If you can find a way back it doesn‘t mean that you won’t be killed for it. Maybe. You could argue it though.”

Huh. That opened up a line of thought I hadn’t even considered. I couldn’t ask someone else to resurrect me, but that didn’t mean that _I_ couldn’t find a way to do it on my own. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. After all, there was a lot of magic that a wizard could do to themselves, that if they did to someone else, would be considered black magic - like changing into an animal. Most of the Laws of Magic were about protecting the free will and life of humans. You couldn’t resurrect another person, but nothing in the explanation of the Laws said that you couldn’t resurrect yourself.

“That may work,” I said, staring at Frankie in wonder. “That may actually work.”

He gave me a small, wry smile. “Don’t thank me yet; you still have another problem. You need to figure out who killed you. Or they‘ll just do it again.”

“I know, I haven‘t been able to figure that out yet,” I gave him a rueful grin. “It’s a bad sign that I have too many enemies who want to see me dead to narrow down, isn‘t it?”

“Or a very good one, depending on who they are,” Frankie said. “If bad guys want you dead, then you‘re definitely doing the right thing.”

I laughed at that. “Good point.”

“If it helps, I can tell you that it wasn‘t Marcone,” he said.

“What makes you say that?” I asked, frowning. In all honestly, Marcone had been at the top of my suspect list. But knowing about Frankie, I had to admit he’d dropped down that list. It wasn’t that Marcone couldn’t have had me killed, it’s just I doubted that he would. Not unless I was the one trying to kill him first. If I was doing that, I doubt he’d hold anything back.

“Other than because he wants into your pants?”

I nearly dropped him. “Jesus, don‘t say that!”

Frankie chuckled. “Marcone doesn‘t want you dead, Harry. He never has. Even when you really piss him off.”

I glared at him. “I could leave you here on the street, you know. I don‘t have to help you all the way back to your apartment.”

He smirked at me. “Didn‘t I say that earlier? You‘re the one that insisted I needed help.”

“Smartass.”

Frankie just laughed.

“I wish I could take you with me,” I blurted out.

Frankie shot me a surprised look. “What? Why?”

“I don‘t like the thought of you being alone here in Marcone‘s head. Not when he‘s so clearly trying to get rid of any trace of you,” I explained. I wished that I had a way to pull him out. No one like Frankie should have to live in Marcone’s head. I just wished that I could come up with a way to take him out with me that wouldn’t get me accused of mind tampering.

But I couldn't think of any way. Dammit. Frankie wasn’t merely in Marcone’s mind, he was part of Marcone’s self. No… he was more than that. Frankie was the real identity, even if Marcone reigned supreme. No wonder Frankie was the only spot of color in this world.

“And what? I’d wander out there like a ghost? What will I do when you get your body back, be an imaginary friend living in your head instead?” asked Frankie, with raised eyebrows.

“You won‘t be the first,” I said, smiling. And the idea was appealing. Even my subconscious self would like Frankie. I was sure of it.

Frankie gave me a confused look and then he shook his head. “I couldn‘t, you know. This is where I belong.” He winced as an uneven piece of pavement made him stumble. I held him steady. “I don‘t want to think about what would happen to Marcone without me.”

“Who cares about him,” I said vehemently, even though ideas of what could happen were already playing gruesome videos in my head. Marcone had only one restraining influence on his ruthless power, which was his unyielding rule about not harming innocents. What if taking Frankie out of his mind made him lose that last bit of civility? What would happen to a Marcone who had only the metal saber-toothed tiger roaming the streets of his subconscious mind? What would happen if the last bit of color left the streets of Grey Chicago?

But I _hated_ the idea of leaving Frankie alone. I didn’t want to think of him fading away to shadows in Marcone’s mind, even if the saber-tooth never got a hold of him.

“I think it‘ll help, you know,” Frankie said. “That you‘ll know about me.”

“Help with what? The tiger or the shadow? Because I don’t like the idea of leaving you to either.”

“The shadow won‘t come back anytime soon, Harry,” he said gently. “It took years before it started showing up. And you got rid of it in a day.

I scowled and he elbowed me sharply in the side.

“Hey!” I protested, rubbing at my ribs.

“Are you honestly worrying about me?” he asked incredulously. “You‘re about to head out there and deal with not only finding your murderer but also finding a way back to life!”

Well… when he put it that way.

“I can‘t help it,” I muttered.

“That‘s what I like about you, Harry. You’re a good guy.”

I dropped my head. Hell, I haven’t really been feeling much like a good guy lately.

“Hey, look up, the fourth cube is preparing to drop.”

I looked up to see that the sky was clearing to our left. It was harder to tell just from the spot in the sky, but it looked like the cube would descend about five blocks over. Not close enough to worry about it dropping on our heads, but near enough to run to it when it touched the ground.

“You should go, home is only a couple of blocks away now,” Frankie said. “I can make it without getting eaten.”

“Frankie…”

“Go,” he insisted. “That cube may be the last one you‘ll get tonight. Marcone averages between four and five. Go! Find out if it’s the way out. If isn‘t not, I‘ll still be here.”

I stared at the grey sky where the glowing cube began slowly descending towards the city.

“Okay,” I said reluctantly, then shrugged out of my leather duster. “Here, take this. It‘s better than a bullet-proof vest: it‘ll actually stop claws. And even those fangs.” I held it out to him.

Now it was his turn to scowl at me. “No. You might need that.”

“It‘s part of Marcone‘s mind. I don’t think I‘ll be able to take it out.”

Frankie shook his head. “Give it a try anyway. You won’t be able to refuel with food out there. You‘ll need all the protection you can get if you use up your magic.”

We glowered at each other before I huffed in laughter at the picture we made. Frankie raised his eyebrows at me.

“If Murphy was here she‘d be calling us both idiots,” I explained.

“Or just you,” he said, with a slight smile.

“Yeah, probably,” I admitted. I pulled the duster back on.

Frankie waited until I had settled the heavy mantle on my shoulders before he leaned over and kissed me. I stiffened, and he just pressed closer, giving my lips a slow lick before pulling back.

I stared at him in wide-eyed shock. Okay, seriously, what was it with me getting kissed by men? It’d never happened before, I swear. No matter how oblivious I could be about people being attracted to me I’d have noticed _that_.

But Frankie had Marcone’s taste in men, didn’t he? Which would be me, in this case. Oh, hell. I _was_ being oblivious idiot.

Frankie shrugged and grinned at my stunned expression. “I want something that’s just mine. Something Marcone doesn’t have. I’ve got to have something to lord over him.”

Okay, I could get behind that. “Next time, ask would you,” I grumbled, touching my lips. “I‘ve gotten some pretty dangerous kisses in the past. It‘s not the sort of thing I like having sprung on me.”

Frankie’s mouthed widened into a grin. “Next time?”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” I complained, my cheeks feeling hot.

“Okay,” he said smiling. “I‘m going to kiss you again. Alright?”

“Um,” I said, surprised all over again. “Okay?”

He laughed softly and leaned close. “Was that a question or agreement?”

“Agreement?”

He didn’t bother asking me again. He just leaned up and caught my lips in another kiss. And this time, I didn’t stiffen. I kissed him back. He groaned and pressed up tight against me. He clutched at the lapels of the duster, holding me in place. I opened my mouth. And he eagerly licked his tongue in, tasting my mouth.

My eyes were closed and I was gasping for breath by the time he finally let me go. “You had to do it now? When I‘m about to go?”

“It‘s a good luck kiss,” Frankie said.

And I opened my eyes to glare at him, only to blink at how he looked. Frankie has always been bright compared to the rest of Grey Chicago. But now, he shone. His badge wasn’t the only thing glowing anymore. All of him was lit up with light.

He gently touched my face, the smile slipping away from his lips. “Good luck, Harry,” he said somberly. He stepped away from me.

I nodded and slowly turned towards the direction of the cube‘s descent. It was already heading towards the ground.

“And Harry…” Frankie added. “Be careful.”

I looked at Frankie for - hopefully - not the last time. I said gruffly, “You too.” And I began running towards Marcone’s dream.

When I pushed past the walls of the dream cube, the world inside turned out to be Marcone’s skyscraper dream. And once again he was sitting behind his office desk.

I took a deep breath and caught his attention.

“Mr. Dresden,” Marcone said, a slight, cool smile on his face.

“Marcone,” I said, as I braced myself for any movement from him. “You‘re dreaming again.”

“I know, Mr. Dresden,” he said, his hands steepled before him. “I‘ve been expecting you.”  
*-*-*-*

I can tell you that I did find a way out of Marcone’s head, riding out his dream when it shook apart. I ended up in Chicago - the real Chicago - just like I‘d wanted all along. I outran those hellhounds and I even came back from the dead, with a little help from Mortimer Lindquist. It’s a long story which would take me entirely too much time to explain right now. Maybe later. Let’s just say that I ended up burning down a couple of buildings, only one of which was intentional, I swear, and killing more than a few monsters.

I also kept the baby of a couple of friends from dying at birth. It actually made me glad I was dead; I could only have stopped it from my end.

After I got back, I spent a few weeks recovering from the whole ordeal with the Carpenters before I moved out to Demonreach. I set up a permanent home on the island. Michael gave me pointers on how to fix up the cottage. It‘s still not done, but it works well enough to keep me dry and warm. I’d initially debated finding a new apartment in Chicago, but if there was anything I’ve learned from the fire that destroyed my last home, it’s that I can’t afford to live in a place where my enemies can get to me so easily. And I can’t live in a building with defenseless normal mortals. Too many innocent bystanders could get caught in the crossfire.

So I lived on Demonreach and commuted through the Ways to Chicago and my new office.

I was on my way back to the island through a Way that opened near a warehouse by the Chicago River when I ended up walking straight into a gunfight between Marcone, Hendricks and a pack of creatures with big bulbous watery eyes and warty skin.

The creatures were about knee-high on me, but there were a lot of them. And they had wicked looking fangs and claws that curved out like scimitars.

Gard was calmly killing them several feet in front of Marcone, clearly taking point in his defense with her huge double-headed axe but there were too many for even her impressive skills to take down. And whatever else those things were, one thing was clear: they were tough bastards. Bullets didn’t do much damage, no matter how accurately they were shot.

Normally I would have walked away, and let Marcone deal with whatever mess he’d created but… Frankie lived in Marcone’s head. Dammit.

“ _Fuego!_ ” I shouted, pointing my blasting rod at the thickest grouping of the frog-creatures. When the column of fire hit the creatures they screamed with high-pitched warbling. My fire sure got their attention: it scared the hell out of them and they began to scramble away. I cleared a path to get to Marcone’s side. I continued firing off blasts of flame to kill the closest of the toad-monsters. Bufo-fiends? I’d have to think of a name later.

It didn’t take me long to send the things running - or should I say hopping - away. The last few survivors scrambled down into an opened sewer grate. I frowned as the last one wigged away into the sewers.

Which meant those things could come back. Knowing my luck, I’d ending up having to fight them again by the end of the week. Great. I made a mental note to carry my new staff around too.

“Mr. Dresden,” Marcone said calmly. “Your timing is impeccable.”

Hendricks grunted at me. Gard gave me an acknowledging nod before she crouched down to examine one of the dead bufo-fiends.

“Uh huh,” I said as I eyed Marcone carefully. This was the first time I’d seen him in person since I’d come back to life. And with the memories of what I’d seen in his dreams and in Grey Chicago, I had to fight off the urge to blush.

Marcone’s pale green eyes watched me coolly. “Though, considering our last conversation, I‘m surprised that you bothered.”

I shrugged and turned to walk away. “I didn‘t do it for you.”

“I see,” Marcone said, with calm interest. “Then why did you help me, Mr. Dresden?”

“I did it for a friend of mine,” I said, searching for the spot where the Way would lead back to Demonreach. I said a word and opened up a ragged hole into the Nevernever. “You owe _him_ one.”

“Then may I ask the name of this friend?” Marcone asked. “It would be difficult for me to repay my debt without it.”

I paused right before I crossed over into the Nevernever and gave Marcone a wide smirk. “Sure. It‘s not like you won‘t recognize it. His name is Officer Franco Moretti.”

Marcone’s eyes widened as he paled. Hendricks actually dropped his gun.

I passed through to the other side and closed the opening to the Way before Marcone or Hendricks could recover from their surprise. The last thing I wanted was to get stabbed or shot.

By the time I set foot back on Demonreach, I was chuckling.

Sure, I’d have to be careful next time I popped over to Chicago, but that look on Marcone’s face had been worth it. And if my actions helped out Frankie… well, I’ve done worse things to help a friend out.

…I stopped laughing as soon as I realized I’d have to deal with a pissed off mafia boss next time I showed up in the city. I doubted he’d let me get away with my comment without some - probably violent - reaction.

I groaned. Dammit, life was never easy.

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long winded a/n: I’ve been working on this fic for a long time. I can‘t tell you how often I stared at it trying to figure out how to make it work or how to convert the video-movie of it in my head into words, hopefully without losing a lot of the ‘wow’ factor I felt when I first had the idea explode in my head (it damn near melted my brain. I had more than one ++out of cheese error+ redo from start++ moments). After I’d read ‘Changes’ I honestly hadn’t thought that I could write a fic based on the ending of the book. I even wrote that in my review of it. It was just such a tough place to leave Harry. But then I read ‘Even Hand’ and learned about the premise of ‘Ghost Story’, watched Inception and a lot of police procedural shows, and I stared hard at my Cliche_Bingo card, and thought: Why not? Canon actually supports the idea. I should give it a shot. =D
> 
> Another thing I need to stay is thank you to beachkid because this fic would have had about 25% less words and I would have been a lot less happy with it without your feedback, binz. Seriously, thank you.
> 
> And thank you all for reading it and letting me know what you thought!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Life is Never Easy, But Neither is Death [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/363317) by [tinypinkmouse_podfic (tinypinkmouse)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinypinkmouse/pseuds/tinypinkmouse_podfic)




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